Story Time
by RandomCheeses
Summary: Some fluff, because I've just read chp102 and feel in need of happy sappyness.Set in my 'Restitution' universe.You may need to read that to understand this fic. Takes place one night during the week Mustang is stuck at the Elric's house due to injuries
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist.

Some fluff, because I've just read chp 102 of the manga and feel in need of happy sappyness. You have been warned, so no flames. Set in my 'Restitution' universe. Takes place one night during the week Mustang is stuck at the Elric's house due to injuries.

* * *

Roy Mustang the Flame Alchemist, former Brigadier General and unwitting time-traveller, sighed and carefully turned over a page in his note-book. Though it was late, the alchemist could still see by the last light of the summer sun shining through the small bedroom window, which was taking its time to dip beyond the hills in the distance.

The long days of summer had in fact been the cause of an argument earlier. Ed and Al had not been happy when their mother had told them it was time for bed. The sun had still been reasonably high in the sky and Ed especially had been adamant that going to bed when it was still light outside made no sense at all. However, the boys' mother had put her foot down and the two children had been packed off to bed.

Soon after, Trisha had also retired, explaining that she felt worn out from the long day she'd had, leaving only the temporarily crippled soldier awake. Or at least that was what Mustang had thought. A quiet creaking sound from the hallway indicated that this wasn't the case.

Putting down the note book, Mustang pushed himself up on his crutch and slowly made his way to the bedroom door as quietly as possible. It was already slightly ajar, so he just edged it open a little more and looked out into the dark hallway to see what had been making the noise.

The hallway was empty.

Mustang blinked and looked out again, just to be sure.

Nope. Nada. Nothi-

"Mister Roy?"

The quiet whisper startled Mustang and he looked down. He'd been peeking out, and just below him, two blond haired heads that barely came up to his waist were peeking in. Effectively, he hadn't seen them, because _he_ was in the way.

"We can't sleep. Can you tell us a story?" Ed whispered hopefully, tugging at the dark-haired man's trousers.

Mustang stared, his brain temporarily shorting out from the huge increase in bizarreness. Edward Elric's six-year-old self was asking him to tell a bedtime story. He tried to fit this thought into his brain in a way that made sense. It didn't work. The words '_FullMetal wants a bedtime story' _kept reverberating around in his skull and causing traffic delays on the pathways of his brain.

A story? He didn't know any children's stories. At least, not any without sparkly fairies and princesses in them, which he suspected would not interest the two boys. _Ah, the terrible consequences of growing up in a house full of foster-sisters._

_Well. . . actually that's not quite true, _he thought, _I guess I do know _some _stories they might like. Provided I leave out certain details. Still though. . ._

"Didn't Trisha tell you a story?" Mustang asked, his voice echoing in the silent hallway. He was instantly sshh'd at by the two young boys.

"Mom forgot 'cos she was tired," Al explained in a whisper.

"An' now she's asleep," Ed added, also whispering. "we don't wanna wake her. But we can't sleep without a story. Please?"

Mustang weighed his options. He could tell the boys he didn't know any stories and send them back to bed, which would let him temporarily spare his brain the effort of dealing with the utter strangeness of his situation. But, they likely wouldn't be able to go to sleep easily, meaning they'd be cranky and irritable in the morning, which would cause stress for Trisha. Or, he could tell them a quick story and hopefully they'd go back to sleep quickly and be in a good mood come morning, giving Trisha a full night's rest; something that was to be encouraged whenever possible.

He sighed. "Alright then," he began and then lowered his voice as he was promptly shushed and reminded that 'Mom's tired/asleep. Don' wake her up.'

"Alright," he said again, whispering this time. "Come in. Just one story, okay? Then you two have to go back to bed."

The two blond heads nodded fervently and then Ed dashed past the injured soldier to clamber up onto the chair in the corner, while Al elected to hug Mustang's knees before letting go and climbing onto the end of the bed. Mustang sighed inwardly as he limped his way across the room and sat back on the bed next to Al. _I'm going to regret this. I know it._

"Once upon a time," Mustang said, deciding to go with the traditional opening. "There was a little alchemist, with a very big temper, who lived in a house with his younger brother."

Al pulled on Mustang's sleeve. "What were they called?" the five-year-old asked in a whisper.

Mustang paused. He hadn't considered that part when he'd started and now the two boys were looking at him expectantly. "Uhm. . . Kain and Jean," he said quickly.

"Those are weird names!" Ed opined. "Which was which, Mister Roy?"

"Jean was the older brother," Mustang replied, grinning despite himself. "He was shorter than his younger brother Kain, but he was a brilliant alchemist. He didn't even need circles."

"That's not right!" Ed said authoritatively. "Can't do alchemy without circles. It wouldn't work. Right Al?"

"Right!" Al agreed as his brother slipped off the chair and pulled himself up on the bedspread beside Mustang. The younger boy looked up at the dark-eyed man. "Was Kain an alchemist too?"

"Oh yes!" Mustang told him. "He was an excellent alchemist, but unlike his brother he had to use circles."

"_Everybody_ has to use circles," Ed insisted. "Otherwise it doesn't work."

Mustang smiled and shook his head slightly. "Ed, it's a story. It doesn't have to be like real life, okay?"

"Okay," Ed agreed, shivering and shuffling closer to the soldier for warmth. On his other side, Al did the same.

As two sets of small hands clung to his shirt and a small head rested against either side of him, Mustang shook his head again. _And the bizarreness goes up a notch, _he thought. Clearing his throat, he continued with the 'story'.

"Now, Jean and Kain were very good alchemists. But one day, they tried something that wasn't supposed to be possible."

"Did it work?" Ed breathed, his eyes wide.

Mustang smiled sadly at the child's innocence. "No Ed, it didn't. Some things can't be done, not even with alchemy, no matter how much you want it."

"So what happened?" Al whispered, also fascinated by the story.

Mustang sighed. "They'd tried to do the impossible, to break one of the most basic laws of alchemy. There's a spirit that governs the laws and it didn't like the fact that Jean and Kain tried to break the rules, so it punished them by taking away something from each of them."

Ed rubbed his eyes and yawned. "What'd it take?"

"Jean lost his leg," Mustang told him, "and Kain's entire body was lost."

"His whole body?" Al asked sceptically. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Kain nearly died. But Jean was tough little boy and at the last second, he pulled his brother's soul back from the spirit and sealed it to a suit of armour by giving away his arm."

Ed's eyes, which had been slowly closing, jerked open. "What happened then, Mister Roy?" he demanded, gripping the man's sleeve tightly.

"Well, they decided to go looking for a way to fix things. But first E- er Jean, needed a new arm and leg, so he went to his friend. . . uh, Riza."

"Riza?" Ed asked. "Why do they all have funny names?"

Mustang sighed and slapped his forehead. Ed cocked his head in curiosity. "Why did you hit yourself Mister Roy?"

"Eh, never mind. Anyway, Riza was a brilliant automail mechanic. So she made Jean the best automail in Amestris."

"The best?" the boys whispered in unison.

"The best!" Mustang declared, only just remembering to whisper himself. "Of course, Jean was a headstrong little guy. He used to get into so much trouble, Riza was always repairing it for him. Anyway, once he had a new arm and leg, Jean and Kain headed to Central on the train to meet with an alchemist who thought he might be able to help them. But they had some bad luck. There were evil men hiding on the train."

There were twin 'oohs' from the two boys. At the back of his mind, Mustang wondered if there had been a time in all those short years, when Ed had hung on his every word like this. He knew there was one occasion, but he couldn't bring it to mind.

"Now," Mustang continued. "While they were on the train, waiting to get to Central, Jean fell asleep and while he was sleeping the evil men captured an important General who was also on the train. Then they went to capture everybody else on the train so that no one could make trouble."

"Why did they want a General?" Ed interrupted.

"Well, uh, so that the army would pay them a lot of money to give him back," Mustang invented, thinking it best not to go into a detailed explanation of partisan politics.

Al's eyes brightened. "Can you get lots of money for a General, Mister Roy?"

Mustang stared. Was _Al_ thinking. . . "No Al," he said firmly. "You only get a lot of trouble."

"Aww. . ."

"_Anyway,"_ Mustang continued quickly, lest he accidentally inspire master criminals, "when the evil men came to the carriage that Jean and Kain were in Jean was still asleep. And then. . ." He paused.

"Then what? Then what?" the boys demanded excitedly.

"One of the bad men said that Jean. . . was short!"

* * *

This was supposed to be a one-shot, but. . .


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist.

* * *

_Previously:"One of the bad men said that Jean. . . was short!"_

Ed looked scandalised at Mustang's pronouncement. "That's mean!" he whispered fiercely. "What did Jean do then, Mister Roy?"

Mustang's lips twitched as he tried to keep from laughing at young Ed's furious expression. "Well," he replied,"Jean hated to be called short, even though he really was, so he got _very_ angry. Before the evil men knew what was happening, Jean had knocked them off their feet and he and Kain rescued a soldier that had been captured."

"Yeah!" the boys cheered loudly and then stopped as they remembered the necessity for quiet. "Sshh!" they hissed at each other, fingers against lips.

Long years involved in cut throat military politics only just helped Mustang defeat the urge to laugh at the sight. _Poor Falman, _he thought in amusement as he remembered, _it was weeks before Havoc and Breda stopped mocking him for being rescued by an eleven year old kid._

Said kid, currently six years old, had stopped sshhing and was once again looking at Mustang expectantly, as was his brother. "So. . ." Mustang drawled, "now that we're quiet again, who wants to know what happened next?"

"I do! Me!" the boys whispered enthusiastically, tugging at his sleeves again.

Mustang winced. He suspected that his shirt would be in pieces by the end of the night. "Ah, watch the arm, boys," he warned them. "It's broken remember?"

"Oh. Sorry Mister Roy," Ed apologised, patting his arm as Al yawned and curled closer to the alchemist's side. "Wha' happened next, please?"

"Well," Mustang continued, "the soldier that Jean and Kain had rescued told them where the leader of the evil men was keeping the General. So, our two alchemists decided that they'd better go and get him back."

"Then the army'd give _them_ lots of money instead, right?" Al asked, clearly still not giving up on a prospective life of crime.

Mustang sighed. "_No _Alphonse," he repeated sternly. "Then they would let him go back to the army for free. Holding Generals for ransom is not allowed. People who try it get arrested and sent to prison. Do you want to go to prison?"

Al seemed to consider the question briefly. "Would Mom and Brother come too?" he asked hopefully.

"No Alphonse. You're not allowed to bring people with you."

"Oh. Then I don't wanna go."

"Glad to hear it," Mustang told the sandy-haired boy. "I don't think your mother or Ed would want you to go either. Now, let's get back to the story, shall we?"

"Yeah!" Ed chimed in. "More story!" Then he shivered and huddled closer to Mustang. "I'm gettin' cold Mister Roy," he complained.

"Me too," Al added, pressing himself against the soldier.

"Boys," Mustang gasped. "Back off a little. I can't breathe."

"But we're cold!" Ed protested, burrowing against him. "And you're warm."

_Roy?_ a voice inside Mustang's head said as his ribs lined up to complain about the neglectful treatment the were being subjected to.

_Yes? _he answered.

_This is your subconcious. Do something before they crush your lungs. _

_You can't be my subconcious, _Mustang protested._ People don't talk to their subconcious. That's why it's called _**sub**_concious._

_Haven't we already established that you're suffering from oxygen deprivation? That does strange things to the brain. Get them to move. _

_But they're cold._

_And you're all sitting on a bed. With **blankets. **Get a clue. _

_Oh. Right._

Mustang straightened up, dislodging the complaining boys and leaned on his crutch, pulling himself off the bed. "Alright," he said before the two children could protest, "you two get under the blankets. That way, you'll stay warm."

Never in the history of the world had someone crawled under a blanket so fast. Once they had pulled the covers up around them, the two boys looked hopefully at Mustang.

"Gonna finish the story, right?" Al said pleadingly.

Mustang sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Well," he teased, "now that I'm not being crushed to death by two heavy little boys, I _guess_ I could finish the story."

Ed glared. "_Not_ little. Finish the story," he demanded.

"Ah, alright then," Mustang agreed. "Now, as I was saying, Jean and Kain had decided to rescue the General and all the other people on the train from the evil men. Because Kain couldn't be hurt by a gun, he decided to go to the General through the other train cars, while Jean climbed out the train window and walked across the top."

"Aw, cool!" Ed whispered.

"It was very dangerous Ed," Mustang admonished him. "Jean wasn't expecting the pressure from the wind and he nearly got blown off the train! Just as he was about to go flying, though, someone caught him."

"Was it a bad guy? Was it?" Al asked excitedly.

Mustang grinned. "No. It was another soldier, who'd managed to hide when the evil men took the General hostage. His name was. . ." The boys watched as the dark-eyed man paused and then nodded to himself. "His name was Maes Hughes," he told the two boys. "He was a man who talked so much it annoyed people half to death, but he was a very brave soldier and he threw knives better than a circus performer."

"Is that really good?" Ed wondered.

"Of course. Better than a circus knife thrower, remember? That's good, isn't it?"

"Dunno. Never seen a circus."

"Ah," Mustang said, clearing his throat. "Well just so you know, being better than a circus performer at throwing knives means you're very, very good."

The children 'ooohh'd, obviously impressed and Mustang smiled. Then he noted the speculative look on Ed's face. "Don't even think about it Ed," he said warningly. "Otherwise I'm not finishing the story."

"I wasn't!" Ed said hastily, pulling the blanket up to his face, leaving only his eyes and forehead peeking out over the top.

"Promise?" Mustang asked, still stern-faced as he tugged the blanket away from the child's face to look him properly in the eye.

"Promise! Promise!" Ed assured him. "Finish the story."

"Alright then. While Hughes and Jean were walking along the top of the train, Kain was going through the different carriages. Every so often he would meet one of the bad guys, but they always tried to shoot him. Because Kain was a moving suit of armour, the bullets would bounce off and hit the bad guys instead. In fact, Kain barely had to do any fighting at all."

"Hughes and Jean, however, weren't so lucky. Walking along the top of a train makes quite a bit of noise and the leader of the bad guys realised someone was up there, so he sent one of his men to get rid of them. At first, Hughes and Jean were in a lot of trouble. They had to hang onto the end of the train carriage and try to avoid the man who was shooting at them at the same time."

"What did they do?" Al asked in a hushed whisper.

Mustang grinned. "When the bad guy had to pause and reload his gun, Jean transmuted part of the train roof into a cannon and used it to knock the bad guy back into the train carriage."

"Yeah!" Ed cheered quietly, punching the air. "Go Jean!"

"Then," Mustang continued, "Jean got a surprise when the train driver leaned out the window and yelled at him to be careful. It turned out that very near to where Jean had transmuted the cannon, there was a whole huge container of water that the train used for making steam to make the engine go. That was when Jean had a bright idea."

"Ooh! What? What?" the boys demanded again.

Mustang laughed softly. "I'll tell you if you stop interrupting me. Otherwise I'll never be able to finish the story. Okay?"

Two heads nodded an affirmative, so Mustang cleared his throat and continued with the story. "Right, then. When Jean realised there was a whole container of water behind him, he transmuted a waterpipe from the container to the carriages with the bad guys in them and used the water to flush them out of the train. All the bad guys except for the leader were washed right to the end of the train where Kain and the soldier he'd rescued earlier were waiting."

As the two boys nodded in satisfaction at the bad guys getting their just desserts, Mustang's sprained ankle twinged for a moment and he paused in his storytelling to re-settle himself of the bed. That done, he took a breath and then launched into the last portion of the story.

* * *

I swear this story was supposed to be a oneshot. (And yes everyone is horribly out of character. I don't care. Anything to help recover from the horrible awesomeness that is Manga ch102.)


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own FullMetal Alchemist. Last part of Story Time.

* * *

"Right," Mustang began, launching into the last part of the story, "after all the bad guys had been washed out to the end of the train, only their leader, a man called Bald, was left inside."

"That's the silliest name _ever_," Ed giggled. "Why did his Mom call him that?"

Mustang smirked. "I guess she didn't have much of an imagination," he replied, making Al laugh as well.

In truth, he thought, Ed had a good point. It hadn't been the man's _real_ name of course, revolutionaries dedicated to the overthrow of the government did not tend to go around using the name they were born with, but it _was_ a rather stupid code name all the same. After all, the guy had definitely had hair, at least up until he'd charged at the Flame Alchemist point blank and had it scorched off.

"Anyway," he went on, as the brothers continued to laugh at the leading revolutionary's choice of moniker, "Bald was a bit bruised and battered from being flushed around by the water, but he wasn't beaten yet. He started to get up so that he could go back and capture the General again. But, just as Bald was back on his feet, the compartment door next to him slid open to reveal Maes, the knife-thrower."

"Quick as a flash, Maes hurled one of his throwing knives at Bald, but the huge bad guy blocked the attack with his left arm which was covered by his cloak. Maes's knife just clattered to the ground with a ringing sound, almost as if it had struck metal."

"Then he had automail arm like Jean's?" Ed yawned, covering his mouth. "Cool!"

Mustang smiled fondly at the boy. "Well, it was almost like Jean's," he clarified. "There was one major difference, though."

"What? What diff'rence?" Al demanded, tugging Mustang's trouser leg. The soldier shook his head with a sigh. The boys seemed to be determined to pull his clothes apart. At least Al hadn't gone for his shirt sleeve this time. He suspected it was barely hanging on by a thread as it was.

"Bald had a gun built into his automail," Mustang explained carefully. "So once the knife that Maes had thrown had fallen on the floor, he aimed it and fired. It was all Maes could do to get behind a compartment door and pull it shut without being shot." This was in fact, a slight deviation from what had actually happened; a bullet had grazed Hughes' shoulder when Bald had shot at him, but Mustang figured that there was no need to leave that in the story. It would only upset the children.

"Then," Mustang continued, "just as Bald was about to tear down the door to get to Maes, Jean came flying through the skylight on the roof of the train and knocked Bald off his feet. For a second it looked like Jean had won, but then Bald got back up and they grappled with each other."

Mustang paused and looked at Ed and Al. Both were obviously sleepy now, barely managing to keep their eyes open, but still fascinated by the story. Al was leaning against his brother in much the same way the boys had curled up against Mustang earlier and Ed was covering another yawn. _Better finish the story quick,_ Mustang decided.

"Now," Mustang explained, "since Jean's right arm was automail and so was Bald's left arm, they were pretty evenly matched. But lucky for Jean, he'd had his automail made by Riza, who was an expert mechanic, even if she did have a scary habit of throwing wrenches at Jean's head. Bald, on the other hand, was using a piece of cheaply made automail that he hadn't taken care of properly. So, while Jean and Bald were wrestling with each other, automail against automail, there was a sudden loud CRACK and then part of Bald's automail split into a million pieces. And then Kain rushed into the train carriage and knocked him out with one punch."

"Kain's the best," Ed said sleepily.

"Nuh uh," his little brother disagreed. "Jean's way cooler."

"Kain!" Ed insisted with a yawn.

"Jean!" Al retorted, covering a yawn of his own.

"I can't finish the story with an argument going on, you know," Mustang drawled.

There was immediate silence.

"Right," the dark-haired man said, "now that I have silence. . . as soon as the train pulled into Central, Bald and his men were arrested by the military and the General got to go back to his office without anyone having to give anyone else lots of money." Mustang pointedly ignored Al's disappointed look and went on, "while Bald and his men were being held at the station, he got lose from the ropes that were binding him and attacked the Colonel who was in charge of the soldiers at the station."

This last bit of dramatic tension earned an 'oooh!' from the tired children and Mustang felt oddly gratified. "Unluckily for Bald," he said, "the Colonel was the State Alchemist who Jean and Kain had come to see and like me, he was very good at using his alchemy to create fire. Before Bald could get anywhere near him, the Colonel burned up his pants, so Bald had to surrender unless he wanted to run around Central in his underpants."

_All right, that wasn't strictly true_, Mustang admitted to himself,_ but that sort of humour appeals to small children, doesn't it?_ Sure enough, tired though they were, the Elric brothers were snickering at the thought of the big bad General-kidnapper losing his pants. _Besides, _he thought, _I can hardly tell them I gave the man all-over second degree burns. That does not qualify as setting a good example about the safe uses of alchemy._

"And that," Mustang declared, "is the end of the story about the alchemists on the train."

"But," Ed protested, "what happened to Jean and Kain after that?"

"I'll tell you that another day, now I think it's time you two went to back to bed," Mustang replied.

Ed nodded reluctantly and shook his brother. "C'mon Al, we gotta go back to bed."

There was no answer from the younger boy. Somewhere in the last few minutes, Al had fallen asleep. Mustang sighed. He really didn't want to wake the boy, but the with the state his arm and leg were in at the moment, he couldn't carry the five-year old back to his own bed. He also didn't want to have to wake Trisha either. Mustang looked around the room as if the walls would provide him with an answer. What to do, what to do?

The walls failed to be of any help whatsoever, so Mustang let his gaze drift back to Al. And Ed. Who was now also fast asleep, curled up against his little brother. Mustang sighed again, this time rather resignedly and tucked the blanket more securely around the sleeping children. Then he pulled himself up on his crutch and hobbled towards the door, intending to head for the kitchen, which with a bit of luck, would still be warm. Maybe he could sleep in the rocking chair?

###

When he woke in the morning, he found a pillow and blanket around him that he didn't remember bringing to the kitchen. Trisha was cooking pancakes again. She looked over at his sleep-confused face and winked. "You make an entertaining storyteller Roy," she praised him.

He blinked at her, his head still fuzzy. "You. . . were listening?"

Trisha smiled sheepishly. "I was tired last night, but I couldn't seem to sleep either. The spare bedroom is next to mine and the walls aren't all that thick."

"Oh. . ."

"Like I said," she told him with a smile, handing him a plate with a fresh pancake on it, "it was a good story. Whatever did happen to those two boys?" she asked.

Roy swallowed reflexively. "They fixed themselves to their satisfaction in the end," he told her sincerely.

Trisha nodded. "Hard to believe, given the state you said they were in. I suppose that Colonel must've helped them a great deal."

"As much as he possibly could," Roy promised her. "He did everything he could."

"You know," Trisha said thoughtfully, "you named practically everyone else in the story. It's not really fair to leave the Colonel out."

Roy shrugged. "Well, I was pretty near the end, you know." He tried his best to smile. "You can name him if you like."

Trisha smiled. "Well then, since it's your story, let's call him Roy. After all," she said gently, "that is his actual name. Isn't it?"

Roy looked at her sharply and then sagged and nodded. "How did you. . . ?"

"The way you spoke about those boys," Trisha told the soldier, her voice still gentle and careful. "You weren't speaking about something you'd just heard or made up people. You spoke as if you knew them. You cared deeply about them."

"Yes," he murmured quietly, looking back not at her, but at a memory that she couldn't see. "I did. I always will."

The moment vanished when two hyper blond-haired boys under the age of seven whirled into the kitchen in search of pancakes.

* * *

I apologise to those of you who've been subjected to too much sappiness. Regular updates of Restitution will resume from now on.


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